spasms grow less violent, become more like a diminishing succession of electrified jolts, the others are able to get close enough to Tristan to pull his ravaged body clear.
They all know, him most of all, that his wounds are mortal.
He is lifted so that he might be borne back to the palace. He is too weak to ask them to remain and locate the lost chestnut.
Act Seven: The White Flag
The blood of the opossum is painted on Tristan’s pallid face, his head propped up so that blood can be poured into it like a bowl, but these efforts only prolong the inevitable. He is dying, and this knowledge frees him; he becomes bold. By feebly scratching in the dirt, he tells his servant to summon to his death bed Isolde the Beautiful, wife of his uncle King Mark.
If it is her intention to come, she is to send the messenger back to Tristan bearing a white flag in his arms. If she will not come to his side, the servant is to return carrying a flag of black. Then he will know whether or not to cling to these last shreds of life.
Tristan may be dying, and thus emboldened, but the servant is not nearly so free. Afraid to comply with Tristan’s wishes behind his wife’s back, the servant makes known to Iseult the final request of her husband.
Iseult is enraged, but her rage burns cold even in this summer swelter.
Wildly waving two leafy twigs in a kind of semaphore, she commands the servant to fashion a flag of black.
After waiting a suitable amount of time, so that it will seem he has indeed traveled to the far palace of King Mark, the servant enters the bed chamber of Tristan carrying a stick to which has been tied a scrap of black plastic trash bag. The servant stands at the foot of the cigar box bed nervously, as if awaiting Tristan’s next command.
But there is no final command. Tristan simply lowers his head back. His eyes are still bright in his cracked, blood-caked white face, and his lips are still curled in a great smile, but his soul rolls out of him as his desiccated brain has already rolled out of him. As the chestnut became lost amongst the rich flora of the kingdom, so his soul vanishes into a greater, invisible kingdom to which only spirit, not matter, is discarded.
It is as if a hand has been withdrawn from inside a puppet. Tristan is no longer a prince, in his dismembered state not even a doll. And yet despite this, he is loved. Despite his wife’s betrayal, word of his death reaches the palace of Isolde the Beautiful.
Act Eight: Inanimated
Though both King Mark and Iseult protest, Isolde insists that she must go to the side of her fallen, former lover. She can not be dissuaded or denied. Reluctantly, the King accompanies her, as he feels obligated to pay his respects to his disrespectful nephew. But when they arrive at the impressive toilet-palace of the Duke, King Mark allows his wife to first go to Tristan’s side alone. He is heart-broken by Isolde’s greater love for his nephew, but loves her enough to grant her this private mourning.
Even the servant beside the bed leaves her alone with her suffering and the still form of her lover, lying in a cigar box packed with layers of leaves and plastic bubble wrap (it was one of Iseult’s pleasures to make love with him upon this material so that it popped beneath them). Isolde nearly swoons at the sight of him. The unabsorbed animal blood crusted to his grinning handsome face. And that poor, empty, empty skull…
She kneels at his side, gently stroking his cheek with her pink plastic hand, recalling how his face vibrated in nervousness the first time she touched him thus.
She will never love her great husband as she loved this humble being.
Since learning of his demise, Isolde the Beautiful has been secretly planning to dismantle herself violently by using her scissored sex organs and her lover’s tweezers, so that she might join him in death, if such a thing is possible, or cast herself into oblivion to escape her
They all know, him most of all, that his wounds are mortal.
He is lifted so that he might be borne back to the palace. He is too weak to ask them to remain and locate the lost chestnut.
Act Seven: The White Flag
The blood of the opossum is painted on Tristan’s pallid face, his head propped up so that blood can be poured into it like a bowl, but these efforts only prolong the inevitable. He is dying, and this knowledge frees him; he becomes bold. By feebly scratching in the dirt, he tells his servant to summon to his death bed Isolde the Beautiful, wife of his uncle King Mark.
If it is her intention to come, she is to send the messenger back to Tristan bearing a white flag in his arms. If she will not come to his side, the servant is to return carrying a flag of black. Then he will know whether or not to cling to these last shreds of life.
Tristan may be dying, and thus emboldened, but the servant is not nearly so free. Afraid to comply with Tristan’s wishes behind his wife’s back, the servant makes known to Iseult the final request of her husband.
Iseult is enraged, but her rage burns cold even in this summer swelter.
Wildly waving two leafy twigs in a kind of semaphore, she commands the servant to fashion a flag of black.
After waiting a suitable amount of time, so that it will seem he has indeed traveled to the far palace of King Mark, the servant enters the bed chamber of Tristan carrying a stick to which has been tied a scrap of black plastic trash bag. The servant stands at the foot of the cigar box bed nervously, as if awaiting Tristan’s next command.
But there is no final command. Tristan simply lowers his head back. His eyes are still bright in his cracked, blood-caked white face, and his lips are still curled in a great smile, but his soul rolls out of him as his desiccated brain has already rolled out of him. As the chestnut became lost amongst the rich flora of the kingdom, so his soul vanishes into a greater, invisible kingdom to which only spirit, not matter, is discarded.
It is as if a hand has been withdrawn from inside a puppet. Tristan is no longer a prince, in his dismembered state not even a doll. And yet despite this, he is loved. Despite his wife’s betrayal, word of his death reaches the palace of Isolde the Beautiful.
Act Eight: Inanimated
Though both King Mark and Iseult protest, Isolde insists that she must go to the side of her fallen, former lover. She can not be dissuaded or denied. Reluctantly, the King accompanies her, as he feels obligated to pay his respects to his disrespectful nephew. But when they arrive at the impressive toilet-palace of the Duke, King Mark allows his wife to first go to Tristan’s side alone. He is heart-broken by Isolde’s greater love for his nephew, but loves her enough to grant her this private mourning.
Even the servant beside the bed leaves her alone with her suffering and the still form of her lover, lying in a cigar box packed with layers of leaves and plastic bubble wrap (it was one of Iseult’s pleasures to make love with him upon this material so that it popped beneath them). Isolde nearly swoons at the sight of him. The unabsorbed animal blood crusted to his grinning handsome face. And that poor, empty, empty skull…
She kneels at his side, gently stroking his cheek with her pink plastic hand, recalling how his face vibrated in nervousness the first time she touched him thus.
She will never love her great husband as she loved this humble being.
Since learning of his demise, Isolde the Beautiful has been secretly planning to dismantle herself violently by using her scissored sex organs and her lover’s tweezers, so that she might join him in death, if such a thing is possible, or cast herself into oblivion to escape her
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